She was pretty and blond with short hair. Her eyes were lovely, but currently filled with panic. “Shut up and listen,” he said. “I’m a Federal agent. I know all about the Monkey Wrench Gang and Bernard Copeland or Smith or whatever you want to call him. I know about the virus.” At this, her panic increased, but he stifled her movements with his grip on her wrists. “I’m not here to arrest you. We need you.”
She stopped struggling. “You… need…?”
“You’re Sarah Kalmijn, right?”
“Yes.”
“Listen carefully because I don’t have a lot of time. Part of Copeland’s plan worked. The President did get the virus. In fact, several people have contracted it. But Frankie Michael-mas sold you all out. She gave the virus and the antiviral medicine to terrorists, real terrorists. We need to know how to create a new antiviral medicine or people will start dying.”
Sarah looked terrified. “Do they have the weaponized version or the natural—?”
“Both. Stop asking questions,” he said. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know when there’s time. Right now assassins have killed Pico Santiago and Todd Romond, and you’re next. Do you know how to make more vaccine?”
“It’s not exactly a vaccine. It’s an antiviral—”
“Whatever. Can you make it?”
“No,” Sarah said. Jack’s heart sank until she added, “But I know where Copeland kept his notes stored.”
“We searched his house—”
“Not there. It’s at Santa Monica Airport. I can show you.”
“Good.”
The boat had drifted out into the main channel as they spoke. Sarah grabbed the wheel and straightened the boat out, the chugging engine barely giving them any momentum. She started to turn the boat around as she said, “Did you— did you say that the President has the virus? Is he okay?”
“Last update I got,” Jack said. “But not for much longer.”
Sarah hesitated, then said, “I have something you’ll want. Hold her steady.” She put his hands on the wheel and reached down into her bag. She removed a leather camera case that had been stuffed with strips of rags. Tossing the rags aside, she removed a thin vial of clear liquid and handed it to Jack.
“Is this what I—?”
“The antiviral,” Sarah said. “When Bernard really started messing with the virus, I stole a dose for myself. I’m terrified of that virus.”
Jack took the vial from her and put it into the pocket of his jacket. “I’ve seen what it does to—” He stopped. A powerful engine roared nearby, and Jack heard the hiss and splash of rapidly displaced water. A searchlight fired up, shining brightly on Sarah’s boat.
“Get down!” Jack yelled, slamming Sarah Kalmijn onto the deck. Guns blazed on board the speedboat, and bullets riddled the side of the boat, splintering the fiberglass. The speedboat came closer, intending to board. Jack fired his SigSauer, and the boat veered away as someone cursed in Farsi.
Jack got off a few more rounds, but the assassins had fire superiority. There must have been four or five of them in the speedboat because they laid down a constant rate of fire, forcing Jack to stay low, covering Sarah as she murmured, “Oh god, don’t let them hurt me,” over and over.
The speedboat came closer. Jack stuck his gun over the edge of the cockpit and fired, but they were blind and wild shots that wouldn’t slow these assassins down. Mercy was on the dock and Ozersky was undoubtedly running to some sort of position, but it would be tough for them to acquire targets from where they were. The gunfight must have awakened the entire harbor, but it would take minutes for anyone to respond effectively, and Jack was sure he had only seconds.
Jack cast about desperately for an idea. Spying the stern of the boat, he saw a silver pan attached to the railing. He knew from his trip to Catalina Island that the silver pan was a barbecue.
Gunfire slapped against the fiberglass. They’d be able to board soon. “Does this boat use a propane tank? Do you have a stove down below?”
“What? Yes!” Sarah said, holding her arms over her head and pressing her head to the deck.
“Stay here,” he ordered. Jack slid along the cockpit floor, scraping knees as he did, and dropped down into the cabin. He fumbled in the dark until he found a flashlight in a cubbyhole above the stove. By its light he spun open the gas valves on each of the four burners. Gas hissed out into the cabin.
Jack crawled back onto the deck. The speedboat was ten meters away. Jack emptied his magazine at them, and they ducked low.
Now, he thought. Jack grabbed Sarah Kalmijn and dragged her over the side of the boat away from the assassins. They both fell into the freezing water of the harbor. Jack held his breath and clamped a hand over Sarah’s mouth and nose. He refused to let her drown. Kicking away from the boat, he swam under water as long and as far as he could.
Eshmail Nouri was the first aboard the sailboat, a fresh magazine in his Glock pistol. Two of his three men boarded with him while the third stayed in the speedboat.
It had been a bad night for Eshmail. As far as he was concerned, their cell had been wasted. Years of patience and tolerance had been abandoned in the blink of an eye. Eshmail had lost good friends and excellent operatives at every step. Even when his people succeeded they ended up dead! He hated the American government more than ever.
It had been a bad night, but he would make the Americans pay. Nouri stuck the muzzle of his pistol down into the cabin and opened fire. Too late did he hear the hiss and smell the gas. A ball of fire engulfed him, his colleagues, the sailboat, and the motorboat, and his bad night was over.
Jack came to the surface and gasped for breath as the fireball dissipated and the boom rolled out over the waters of the harbor.
“Jack!” Mercy called. “Jack!”
“I’m okay!” he called out. “I’ve got her.”
Jack swam to the sound of Mercy’s voice. By the time he and Sarah reached the dock, Ozersky was there, too. Sirens wailed in the distance and people, mostly live-aboards, were gathering.
“This is Sarah Kalmijn,” Jack said as Mercy pulled him out of the water. “She’s going to take us to Copeland’s notes so we can re-create the antiviral medicine.”
Mercy held up a towel she’d pulled off someone’s boat. Jack took off his coat and wrapped himself in the towel. He was soaked, freezing, exhausted. But he was not going to give up now.
“Come on, we have to hurry.”
The phone in Chappelle’s hand rang and he answered. He’d driven over to Health Services to be with the President when the call came in. The phone had been attached to a speakerphone so Barnes could hear from inside the bio containment unit.
“I’m here,” Chappelle said.
“As are others, I’m sure,” al-Libbi said smugly, “so I’ll be quick. What have you decided?”
Chappelle looked at Barnes for final confirmation. The President nodded. “We agree,” Chappelle said. “The five will be released immediately.”
“Perfect,” al-Libbi replied. “Go to the corner of Olympic Boulevard and Colby. Assuming the five are actually released in the next few minutes, and assuming I get confirmation, you will find a package there.” The terrorist hung up.
Chappelle picked up a different phone. “Henderson, send Almeida and Myers. Olympic and Colby. Go, now!”
Barnes, on his side of the plastic shielding, squeezed his hands together so hard the knuckles turned white. He looked at Mitch Rasher, and then at Chappelle. “Once this is over, we’re going to use every means at our disposal to kill that man.”
CTU was as quiet as it would ever get, with most of its field agents out on assignment and half the analysts
